Reaper's Legacy (27 page)

“No, we got shit,” Duck said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “Here’s what you need to know. Toke—”

“Toke slashed Em with a knife,” Hunter said. “I saw the damage. He’s out of control, and not just with us. Am I right?”

“How did you see that?” Picnic demanded. “Why the fuck was her shirt off?”

“Shut up,” Hunter said. Picnic lurched to his feet, but Horse caught him, pushing him back down.

“Not now, Pic,” Horse murmured. “Hold it back.”

“Why was her shirt off?” Picnic repeated. Ruger felt his own temper rise, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open.

“I think a better question is, why she did she get cut in the first place?” Hunter asked, his voice full of carefully leashed anger. “Or maybe, why was she meeting a strange man in a bar without any kind of backup? You fucked up, old man, and I’ve got her now. Looks like she needs someone new to protect her anyway.”

Fuck me,
Ruger thought.
He’s got a thing for Em.

“Let’s get back on track,” Duck said, his tone smooth and dangerous, which wasn’t like Duck at all. Usually he had a big mouth and a short temper, but the crisis seemed to have brought out something more calculating in him. He’d told them stories about Vietnam, about patrols in the backcountry and sneaking behind enemy lines, but Ruger had always thought he was full of shit.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“We can’t give you what you want,” Duck told Hunter. “Believe me, we want to. We’ve been looking for him all week. And this shit—this goes against our whole club. We voted on the truce and the decision was made. He’ll answer for that to the national officers. But don’t go hurting two innocent girls trying to force us to do something impossible. I promise you, either of them gets a scratch and your life will end. Got me?”

Hunter sat back in his chair, studying each man in turn.

“You seriously expect me to believe you can’t track down your own man?” he asked, cocking his head. “Sounds like the Reapers got some problems of their own.”

“That may be,” Horse said. “But it’s a fact—we can’t tell you where he is. I can’t make you believe that, but no matter what you do to Em and Sophie, it doesn’t change reality. We’ve had guys looking for him all week.”

“Let me guess, his brothers in Portland? Deke?” Hunter asked sarcastically. “Because they’ll cover his ass.”

“Not just Deke,” Horse replied. “And trust me, they want his ass as much as you do. This isn’t just about you—he broke faith with all of us. We voted. We made a truce.”

“Seriously, Hunter. We know jack shit about Toke,” Ruger said, somehow staying calm and matter-of-fact, despite the fact he wanted to jump over the table and cut the prick’s heart out. “I think you get we’re lookin’ at a war starting, right here, right now. Toke’s out of control and we all know it. Whatever happens to him, he brought on himself. But you takin’ our girls? That’s different. When we come after you, we’ll bring the whole damned club with us.”

“Em and Sophie are safe,” Hunter said. “And I promise they’ll stay that way, at least for now. But you aren’t getting them back.”

“How ’bout giving us one?” Duck asked. “Sophie’s got a kid. Send her back.”

Picnic stiffened, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t part of the plan. Ruger saw where Duck was going with it, though. One was better than none, and if Hunter had a thing for Em, he’d be motivated to protect her. Not only that, Em would definitely want Sophie back with Noah. Ruger glanced over at Pic and saw understanding written on his face.

Fuck … He couldn’t even imagine what Picnic was going through right now. It was bad enough they had Sophie. If somebody tried to take away Noah, he’d lose his shit all over the place. Rain goddamn hellfire on them.

“What’ll you give me if I let her go?” Hunter asked. “I want something to take back to my club.”

“How about a hostage?” Painter said suddenly. “They’ve got one of your brothers—you take one of ours and let both girls go.”

Hunter gave a short laugh.

“Fuck that,” he said. “Your ugly asses aren’t worth shit to me. We want a Reaper, we’ll pick one up in Portland.”

He leaned forward, his eyes intense.

“I want peace,” Hunter continued. “Even with all this, I still want peace. Nothing in our situation has changed, and if you’re tellin’ me Toke is rogue, give me something to take to my club and maybe we can still save the truce.”

He pulled out his phone, glancing down at it.

“Back in five,” Hunter said. He stood and walked away, holding it to his ear.

“This is a waste of time,” Picnic said. “Deke was right—no point making peace with these fuckwads.”

Ruger nodded, and he heard his brothers murmur agreement. The entire club needed to reevaluate their decision, no question. Didn’t excuse Toke going rogue, but Ruger understood his motivations.

Hunter hung up his phone and turned back toward them. Almost immediately it rang again and he answered, studying their table the entire time. While his face stayed carefully blank, Ruger caught a hint of something wild in his eyes.

Then the Devil’s Jack hung up the phone once more and walked toward them.

“Good news and bad,” he said slowly. Ruger tensed.

“What’s that?” Duck asked.

“Clutch is alive,” he said. “At least for now. We don’t have much information on him yet. They took him to the hospital. That’s the good.”

“And the bad?” said Picnic.

“It was cops that found him and Toke,” Hunter replied.
“Someone heard something and called it in. They caught Toke hiding in a hotel, our guy chained up in the bathroom. The girls who were in our house when he attacked are cooperating, so the cops have witnesses. They’ll put Toke in protective custody. Out of our reach, for now. The brothers won’t be happy about that.”

“You gonna give us back Sophie and Em?” Ruger asked.

The question hung heavy between them as Hunter leaned back and took another drink, face blank.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m doin’ it to prove we’re serious about the truce. Toke’s situation still isn’t resolved. But I’m willing to accept he wasn’t acting on behalf of the Reapers, pull that out of the equation.”

Ruger felt the band around his chest loosen for the first time since he’d gotten that panicked call from Sophie.

“When?” Picnic asked.

“Soon,” Hunter replied. “But I’m getting out of here alive first, I think. I’m sure you’ll see my concern?”

Duck snorted, almost a laugh.

“Yeah, I’d be concerned in your place, too,” he said. “We won’t forget this. Not sure that truce is gonna last after this little adventure.”

“Me neither,” Hunter admitted. “I’ll do my best. Hope you will, too. Skid’ll let the girls go once I give him the word. Won’t happen until I’m sure I’m safe, so you start trailing me, your girls stay locked up longer.”

“Understood,” Picnic said. “Make it fast.”

“One more thing,” Duck said. “The Toke situation—you got any pull with those witnesses? We’d like to handle this within the club as much as possible. Toke’ll keep his mouth shut, sure your boys will, too.”

Hunter shrugged.

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Right,” Duck said. “Keep Em and Sophie safe, got me? Otherwise I’ll personally skin you and use it to make lamp shades for the Armory.”

SOPHIE

Sometimes your brain tells you to do something and you know it’s wrong.

My brain told me to run faster when I heard Skid’s gun go off, to follow Em’s plan like a good little girl. I was supposed to get out and get help. No turning back. My son needed me … We
agreed
on it.

Not only that, saving Em was Picnic and Ruger’s job.

This wasn’t my fight.

But somehow I knew—in my gut and in my soul—that if I kept running, Skid would kill Em. Maybe he already had.

I couldn’t leave her behind.

So I stopped running and turned back toward the house, creeping up on it as quickly as I could, taking cover underneath a window on the living-room side. I listened for a second, hearing the muffled sound of Skid’s voice. Em answered him, her tone pleading. I figured that meant he was distracted, so I popped up for a quick peek.

Em lay on the floor, pressing against the outside of her left thigh with both hands. Bright red blood seeped between her fingers. Skid stood over her, gun pointed and ready, and the look on his face wasn’t friendly. This guy would be happy to kill her.

Fuck.

I looked around frantically, trying to think of a plan. I needed to stop him, and I needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t end with someone dead. I crawled quickly around the side of the house, where the open front porch held two wooden chairs and a small
table. I tried peeking in the front window to see what was happening, but shades covered it.

Then I heard Em scream.

No more time.

I grabbed one of the chairs, pleased to find that it was solid wood and had a nice heft. Then I rang the doorbell and waited, holding my chair ready.

“Who’s out there?” Skid called.

I stayed quiet—I mean, what the hell was I supposed to say?
Please come out so I can hit you?
Using my elbow, I rang the bell again. My muscles started to burn from holding the chair.
Hurry up, asshole.

“Fuck off!” Skid yelled. Em must’ve done something to mess with him because I heard a crashing noise. I rang the bell five or six times in a row with my elbow like an annoying kid.

Skid threw the door open.

I clocked him hard in the face with the chair. He staggered and the gun went off, thankfully missing me. I ignored the ringing in my ears and swung the chair around and hit him again. He shuddered, then lunged toward me, blood running down his face from his smashed nose. I screamed as he grabbed the chair by its legs, jerking it away and raising it high.

Then Em was on him from behind.

She attacked like a rabid ferret, arms tightening around his neck as she bit and scratched and kicked. He lurched forward and I joined in, grabbing the second chair and swinging it at his knees. He gave a high scream as he pitched forward off the porch, Em riding him down into the dirt. I jumped after them, landing between his legs and kicking him in the crotch over and over again. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any little Skidlets in his future to carry on the family legacy.

Skid screamed like a baby the whole time.

And Em? I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

Ten minutes later, we’d handcuffed Skid’s bruised, bleeding body to a porch pillar. He’d passed out from the pain, which was probably a good thing. I didn’t want to look into his evil eyes or listen to whatever bullshit he might spew.

Now I sat in one of the porch chairs, his confiscated gun carefully braced against my leg, cocked and ready to shoot. I didn’t want to kill him, but I’d do it if I had to. I didn’t doubt that for a second.

Em hobbled out of the house, her leg bandaged in strips of sheet from the bedroom. Thankfully, the bullet had just lightly grazed her thigh. Still, her face was white and drawn from the pain.

Despite it all, she managed a small smile, holding up a cell phone in triumph.

“Dumbass has Google maps installed,” she said. “I know exactly where we are. I’m calling Dad to come and get us.”

She dialed.

“Hey, Dad? It’s me. We’re okay. Could use a ride, though.”

Her eyes flickered toward Skid as Picnic’s muffled voice burst out of the phone.

“No, it’s all good,” she answered. “But you might want to bring the van. We may need some cargo space.”

She gave them directions and hung up.

“They’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” Em told me. “They sounded pretty happy to hear from us.”

“Was Hunter with them?” I asked. As soon as the question left my mouth, I regretted it. Did I really want the answer? Em swallowed and looked away.

“No,” she said. “The meet was already over. I guess we missed him by maybe five minutes. He’s got good luck.”

I raised a brow, but kept my mouth shut. Em dropped the phone to the ground, then stomped on it, and I heard the crunch of glass and plastic.

“What the hell?” I asked, startled. “Why’d you do that?”

“GPS,” she said shortly. “I don’t want the Devil’s Jacks tracing us with it, and we can’t leave it here.”

“What if we need it again?”

“We won’t,” she said. “Dad and Ruger will find us. Don’t worry. By tomorrow it’ll be like this never happened. In fact, I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to think about it. Got me?”

“Got you,” I said, narrowing my eyes. Em grabbed the second chair and dragged it over toward me, sitting down.

“Want me to take the gun for a while?”

“Thanks,” I said, handing it over. It was surprisingly heavy, and after the first few minutes my hand had started cramping. I stretched my fingers, looking out across the long gravel driveway into the trees.

“No offense,” I said slowly. “But that was the shittiest girls’ night out ever.”

Em gave a short, startled snort of laughter.

“Ya think?”

RUGER

They crested the small rise overlooking the house and Picnic slowed, raising a hand for the others to stop.

Ruger pulled up next to him.

Holy fuck.

“That’s my girl,” Picnic said, his voice full of pride. “Goddamn, did something right with her.”

“Both our girls,” Ruger muttered. He felt his chest unclenching, a ball of tension he hadn’t even realized was there letting go. “Shit, didn’t know she had it in her.”

Em and Sophie sat on the front porch like two neighbors visiting over sweet tea, except Em held a gun trained steady on Skid. His mangled, bloody form lay in the dirt, arms stretched up behind him and wrapped around the porch pole.

“Think she killed him?” Ruger asked.

“Hope not,” Picnic replied. “Bad enough already, without her
having to live with that. Not to mention messy as fuck for us to clean up.”

“That’s the truth,” Ruger replied.

“It’s Dad, we’re here for you!” Picnic yelled down, waving at her. Em kept her eyes on Skid and her gun didn’t waver.

“Glad you came,” she called back. “I could really use some help.”

“He the only one?” Pic asked.

“Hunter left a couple hours ago,” she shouted. “It was only the two of them.”

They rode slowly down the hill toward the house. Ruger studied Sophie carefully as he parked his bike, but he couldn’t see any signs of serious harm. She looked exhausted, her eyes darkened with smudged makeup, but that was all. Em seemed worse off—her face was pale and a bruise was starting to form on her cheek. White, bloodied strips of fabric had been tied around her leg.

“Stay where you are, girls,” Pic said shortly as he dismounted his ride. Ruger did the same, following him over to the man on the ground.

Skid was in rough shape. He wasn’t moving, and Ruger saw trickles of blood seeping from his nose and mouth. More soaked the dirt, although he couldn’t see where it was coming from. Ruger approached the man carefully, kneeling down to check his pulse.

Still alive. The beat was faint but steady.

“He’s not dead,” he said. “What’s the plan?”

Picnic rolled Skid with a foot. Now they saw the wound—he had a gaping gash on the back of his head.

“He’s been bleeding, but not too bad,” Em said. “Don’t know if he’s passed out from a head injury or from shock. Sophie kicked his nuts to hell and back.”

Ruger felt an instinctive shrinking in his own nether region and glanced up at Sophie. She gazed down at them, her face as smooth as a sphinx’s.

Perfectly calm. Way too calm.
Shock,
Ruger figured.

Picnic stepped up to his daughter and held out his hand for the gun. She gave it to him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close.

Ruger looked to Sophie again and she turned away. Then he heard the crunch of footsteps in the driveway behind him.

“How we gonna play this?” Bam Bam asked, eyeing Skid. Ruger glanced over at his president, wondering the same thing. Would they put the bastard in the ground or not?

“Not in front of the girls,” Picnic said, squeezing Em tight. “Ruger, you and Painter take them, get them safe. Call the medic. He can meet you at the clubhouse. We’ll clean up here.”

Em shook her head, growing tense.

“Don’t kill him,” she said. “You do that, there’s going to be even more fighting.”

“This is about the club, Em,” Picnic replied softly. She glanced down at Skid, then leaned up on her toes, whispering in her father’s ear.

Picnic stiffened.

Em pulled away, eyes clearly pleading.

He shook his head at her and she crossed her arms, taking a step back.
Interesting.
Picnic narrowed his eyes, and the two stared at each other for long seconds. Then Picnic sighed.

“Okay, we’ll take him with us and dump him somewhere he’ll be found,” he said. “See if you can find something to bandage him up with, Bam.”

Ruger looked down at Skid. Intellectually, he knew letting him live was probably a good idea. All other issues aside, Em and Sophie didn’t need that kind of baggage.

He still wanted the fucker dead, though.

They could always take him out later. If they did it right, the girls would never know.

SOPHIE

I didn’t know how to feel as I rode home with Ruger, exhausted and drained from the adrenaline. We’d separated from the rest of the club, which broke into different groups going different places. He’d wanted me to get checked out by a friend of the club who was an EMT, but I insisted I was fine.

Which I was. Physically.

But now that it was over, I was so furious with Ruger that I wanted to scream and hit and kick his big, dumb ass for getting me into this shit. I also wanted him to hold me and make me feel safe again, which was ridiculous.

I’d never be safe around him.

More than anything, though, I wanted to get back to Noah. I wanted to hold him tight and make sure we never, ever had to worry about something like this happening again. Different plans kept running through my head, including changing my name and moving to a different state entirely. But I had a good job now, one that might actually let us get ahead.

I just needed a wall between me and Ruger. I’d draw the line—him on his side and me on mine, with no crossover. If I did that, we’d be fine.

But even angry with him, it felt right and safe to lean against his back as we drove, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. Every inch of Ruger was strong and solid. The leather of his cut lay under my cheek, broken by the embroidered fabric of his Reapers patches. His stomach was made of hard muscle that rippled under my fingers every time he leaned to take a curve.

For now—just for the next twenty minutes—I’d let myself touch him, savor his presence.

Then we’d go our separate ways.

When we finally pulled around the back of Elle’s barn to the little gravel parking area in front of my new apartment, I dropped my arms and let him go. I didn’t let myself feel sad.

I tried not to let myself feel
anything
.

He swung off the bike and took my hand, leading me over to the door, which was a good thing. I felt like I was trapped in a dream, everything distant and surreal.

“Crap,” I muttered, looking at the lock. “I don’t have my keys. They’re in my purse, and I have no idea what happened to it, or my phone.”

“They might find your purse at the house,” Ruger said. “Your phone is gone. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow.”

He let me go and turned back to his bike, digging through one of the saddlebags to pull out a small black leather pouch. When he came back and opened it, I saw a collection of strange little tools.

“Lock picks,” he said shortly.

“So this is just another part of your life?” I asked, numb. “You just go around, ready and waiting to break into places?”

He glanced up at me and opened his mouth to speak. Something in my face must have caught his attention, because his expression softened.

“Babe, I’m a locksmith, used to be my job,” he said, his voice gentle. “Locksmith, gunsmith—if it’s made of metal and has tiny little parts, I like working with it. When I was a kid I built shit out of Legos; now I have big-boy toys. For a while I worked full-time doing lockout calls. Sometimes it’s not about scary stuff, okay?”

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I believed him.

“Whatever,” I murmured. The door clicked open and I walked in, looking around. Everything was just like I’d left it the day before. Normal. All normal. It could almost have been a dream.

“You need to get cleaned up,” he said. “I’ll call Kimber and tell her to bring Noah home in an hour or so. I don’t want him freaking out.”

“Was he worried about me?” I asked, walking over to get a drink of water. I considered offering him one, and then didn’t, because
fuck Ruger
. The little surge of anger was good—made me feel less numb.

“I’m sure he was,” he replied. “Kimber’s been with him the whole time, though. They’ve been watching movies and shit. I talked to him for about five minutes this morning but I haven’t seen him. I was focused on getting you back.”

I turned to look at him, so big he seemed to fill my tiny living room.

“Soph, we need to talk,” he said slowly, looking almost nervous. “I need you to tell me everything that happened. Did they … hurt … you?”

I snorted.

“Um, yeah, they hurt me,” I said, reaching up to touch my bruised cheek. “They threw me in a van, tied me up, and held me prisoner while threatening to kill me because of some bullshit with your club that I don’t understand or care about. So yeah, that part kind of sucked. Thanks for asking.”

“Did they rape you?” he asked bluntly. I shook my head. His face softened with relief, and he walked toward me. I held my hand up flat, halting him.

Limits. Time to set them.

“Ruger, we’ve been playing around, and it’s over,” I said, focusing my eyes on his chest. His 1% patch taunted me, reminding me exactly why this had to happen. “I know I’ve said that before, but everything’s changed now. It doesn’t matter how you make me feel or how nice you are. Your club is dangerous, and I don’t want anything to do with any of you. Noah and I, we can’t afford that.”

He stilled.

“I can see why you might feel that way—” he started to say, but I cut him off.

“No, you really can’t,” I said. “You didn’t spend the night handcuffed to a bed, wondering if you’d get raped or murdered. You didn’t hear your friend screaming in the dark, or hear a gunshot when you tried to escape. We could have
died
, Ruger … So here’s the way it’s going to be from now on. I’ll let you see Noah once a week. We’ll make the plans in advance. You’ll keep him away from your club and you won’t talk to him about motorcycles. You won’t wear your damned colors and you won’t do anything that could ever lead to any kind of danger. You’ll call me to make arrangements and you’ll pick him up and drop him off when and where I tell you.”

His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. I felt his anger and frustration in the air around me like a tangible thing, which was actually kind of funny because I didn’t give a flying fuck what he thought of my plans.

Not anymore.

“You’ll follow my rules,” I continued. “Or I’ll never let Noah see you again. Believe me, I’ll do it. In fact, I’d like to do it right now, but I know how much he loves you and it would be devastating to him. So we’ll try this out, and if it works, great. It doesn’t work or I feel like he’s in danger? You’re gone.”

“You can’t do that,” he said. He started toward me again. I stood my ground as he closed in, doing that domination thing, getting into my space. I stared up at him, his chest about three inches from my chin, and I didn’t care how big and scary he was.

I didn’t care about anything.

“I’m his mother. You have no rights. None. I let you see him because I’m a nice person, and I can stop being nice at any time. Do
not
fuck with me, Ruger.”

He reached up and touched my face lightly, running his finger across my cheek. It sent shivers down my back, and just like that I wanted him.

“I won’t fuck around,” he said. “Just so you know. I nearly lost you. I won’t risk that again. I told you before I’d never be a one-woman man, but I was wrong.”

I looked in his face, studying his eyes. He meant it. I thought about lying in bed with him … I wanted to give in. I wanted
him.

It didn’t matter.

“Too late,” I said, and I meant it. “I’m done with you, and I’m fucking serious. Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

He held my gaze, then the miracle happened.

Ruger listened.

He backed away, turned, and walked out of the house. I heard his bike roar to life outside and then the sound of him riding away.

I’d done it. I’d finally managed to put Ruger in his place. Unfortunately, I was too tired to enjoy it.

MONDAY

KIMBER:
How u doing?

ME:
Ok. Noah’s still kind of clingy. You did a good job but he was still scared. Thank you so much for taking care of him. Im so glad he was safe

KIMBER:
That’s what friends do—u wud do it for me. I’ve been thinkng about u … U want to get together, maybe talk?

ME:
No. Just want to lay low for a while

WEDNESDAY

MARIE:
Hey Sophie! Me and Maggs and Dancer want to hang out tomorrow night … Want to join us?

ME:
Thanks but probably not. You have fun

MARIE:
Okay. How are you?

ME:
Im fine

MARIE:
You talked to Em?

ME:
No. She ok?

MARIE:
Not sure. She wont tell me anything. I’m worried … Did anythng happen we should know about? I mean, while you guys were … wherever? Maybe we can get together and talk

ME:
Im fine, just want to stick to myself and Noah for a while. Em and I werent together the whole time. If you want to know more, you need to get it from her

MARIE:
Okay. We’re worried about you too … How are things

ME:
Fine. I just want space

MARIE:
I get that. But please call if you need us ((hugs))

THURSDAY

DANCER:
Hey. how goes it? Maybe we could let the kids play this afternoon?

ME:
Um, we’re pretty busy right now.

DANCER:
Know how that goes … Did you remember Maries bachelorette party? Its a week from Friday. We have a sitter, she offered to watch Noah too